


You

by Belle82DevArt



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Blood and Gore, Depression, F/M, First story, Implied Sexual Content, Mentions of Character Death, Mentions of sexual activities/effects (wink wink), Multi, Paranoia, Songfic, Story with Plot, Suicide, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 07:19:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Belle82DevArt/pseuds/Belle82DevArt
Summary: Based off the song ‘You’ by Greta Isaac, this one-shot followed a young woman who attracted the wrong attention from the wrong man.





	You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone, I'm Belle, Belle82DevArt and this is my first fanfic in regards my first fanfic in regards to my first fanfic in regards to my newer writing style. I hope you all enjoy what I have created and comments are always welcome!

"I believe i'm being stalked."

 

**_What I would do to get into your head_ **

**_Crawl out my body into yours instead_ **

 

"And why would you have this indication Ms.(Last name)?" The woman glanced with hardened gaze around the therapist office, hands latched lightly onto the handles of a wooden chair that creaked with each twitch and movement. She focused on the dim lit lamp that stayed within the corner, curtains drawn shut and the confined space of the office providing no environment to put her mind at ease. She inhaled sharply at a knock on the door, body tense as the therapist told his secretary to leave them be despite running late into another patients appointment. It was serious business, stalking and all the works included. The (hair color) woman twitches, fingers lightly drumming to steady herself and provide some sort of relief to the tense air around her. "Ms.(Last name), why do you believe you're being stalked?" His question repeated itself only for the woman to quickly interrupt before the ending syllable. "I feel as if i'm being watched mate, as if anywhere I go there is someone who won't leave me be. I can't sleep, can't eat."

 

"It's as if you see a boogeyman." "You fancy me insane." The woman quickly retorted with a frown decorating her features, eyes narrowed as she watched him move and begin to write on his pad. Such solid movements yet at the accusation he took a quick glance. "No, I don't believe such-" He paused, eyes glancing to the side, a clear indicator of lying in its purest. "I merely believe it's a lack of sleep." "Bullshit." The woman stood, grasping her coat and taking her leave. That makes the end of possible people to believe her. Scotland Yard? That was a no right from the beginning after she even began to say the word stalked, no one would hear her out, not after all that's happened in London. No one had time to deal with petty cases. Her family? They fancied her insane since birth. And finally the therapist, he must be calling the local padded room by now, and she was going to have none of it.

 

She wrapped herself up, (eye color) orbs glancing here and there among the reception room to see the usual faces decorated there every Friday, fingers twitching and eyes observing the movements and behaviors of the creatures of habit in such a confined space. Affair, Arsonry, deeper secrets she didn't have time to unfold. Usually she would sit back and watch as each person or couple entered and leave, watched how their moods changed after they left their therapist. Sometimes it seemed to work, others it hadn't. The door beeped away when the door was thrown open, carols of chimes following before the soft shut and sign flapping against the glass and tapping lightly that said it was open during said hours. With head hung low and collar to the wind, the prey kept her track to return home, making stops to glance back and see just who might be watching from the shadows. It was as if she could hear footsteps behind her own every alley and street she took, every bus stop being a whisper as one passed by in her ear but no one there to prove her otherwise. It had to be lack of sleep, had to be some kinda medication she was taking. She didn't feel in her own skin anymore, as if someone had a direct pathway to get under her skin like a leech making contact for blood.

 

**_Swim through your veins all day and every fiber_ **

**_Raid your brain and all your desires_ **

 

The predator made his presence known the first night he laid eyes on the woman, though brief before his game began with someone else of higher importance. The subtle flicks of a tongue on ones lip and fingers going back through his hair to make himself look presentable or to wipe away the sweat of the clubs heat. Their eyes met once, but he kept his gaze on her like a hawk on a running mouse. She kept going from person to person, body still and fingers lingering on a barley drunk glass. She accepted no drinks, didn't bat a eye for a quick meet-and-fuck nor did she present herself as the outgoing whore type. No, she was like a diamond in the most decolate parts of the world, rare, unique, out of place. He wanted to make a approach, the delicious look and idea of what this woman may be thinking of spurring him, but sadly her form retreated when simply another sutor requested a dance in such drunk stance before her. She didn't seem impressed. Why would she? She was worth so much more than to lie with a lowly pig only wanting the ole in-out-in-out.

 

He scratched at his gulliver, watching how she made her exit in such fluid motions. The hands she kept so light on her barely drunk glass tucked within her pockets of shorts somewhat raised to a uneasy height among her thigh, obviously picked by someone other than her. In that moment he caught just the smallest glimpse of what was to come. The observer was to be observed and the sounds of such thrilled him to a point of possible stirring within his pants. He took the automated pager from his pocket, voicing his next commands to the detective via proxy before taking a leave of his own. The game had another player and he was willing to see how far she could manage.

 

With a hum and the next day approaching quickly, he started what she called stalking. Simple surveillance, keep her on her toes for now before he'd swoop in to meet the woman in person. Face to face and possibly body to body if it ever came to such. The thought fancied him not only due to physical appearances but simply the mind behind those eyes that only the players of the game could read. Stear her in the right direction and get the gears to start turning.

 

**_Over and over and over and over again_ **

 

The only option the woman had was to find a private eye would would possibly consider her situation and take it into account. It was delicate much like what sleep she was able to obtain within a week. She steared herself off the uncomfortable couch and took her time to allow every precaution there was for her to simply grab a five minute shower. Stressful, a dull headache was gearing up to become major and the booze simply didn't help anymore. The prescriptions were becoming self medicated. Schizophrenia? Depression? No, no, she knew herself well enough to know she wasn't going crazy or becoming suicidal by now, she knew damn well that someone was following her and by now she just needed a indication to know that she wasn't going mad. A knock to her door, and she nearly collapsed within the small shower in the far reaches of her flat, fingers fiddling with the faucet to turn it off and gather herself up in towel. Her voice was sturdy, yet it still leads to a light stutter as she yelled from the now dripping wet, towel clad form in the living area of her 'home'. More like a glass observation box.

 

The land lady, saying she had something left on her doorstep the night before after she had gone off to her flat in such a hurry. The woman with a sigh didn't take the situation as odd or anything of the sort, it hadn't hit her yet until after she met the older woman with her nearly nude form and accepted the notecard with a soft greeting and thanks, closing of the door in tow and fingers turning over the card to read its neat script. 'Get Sherlock Holmes'. It was all it read, no name, no address of a sender. It was just simply a blank card with her name and flat number left on her doorstep for no accidental retrieval and privacy invaded. Her heart didn't pick up until she left the small 'home' and made her way down the street. Who would be so unusual as to not send a name or address to reply to?

 

**_If you only knew_ **

**_I would do anything_ **

**_For a taste of you_ **

 

He signed the paper in such fluid strokes, eyes glancing up to the figure of blood and bone exposed to the chilled, musky air a abandoned warehouse off in God only knows where. His thumb balanced on his chin with elbow propped up on his knee for him to glance back and forth. The fountain pen was set aside, fingers clasping before his being. His tsk filled the air as tape was ripped away from the huffing and puffing bloody mess in front of his well tailored suit. He watched with amusement at the man who spat and screamed in such bloody murder of what he would do if he was set free from his bonds. The Irishmen and his lacky knew well enough that wasn't going to happen. The glasses that decorated his features had long been discarded, broken and crumbled off to the side leaving the man blind to his assailants. "Mr. Brook, you have been a naughty, naughty man." "I've done as y-" The sharp sound of gurgling flooded the air as the blade of ones butterfly knife embedded within the bloodied heaps neck, point slicing through skin and leaving trails of the crimson liquid to pour, head slouching back with such atrocious yet in a way delightful and even arousing noise. Gagging was one thing, but to a murderer, gurgling and sloshing of blood was delightful. "Ah ah ah, there is no fun in hearing your voice. You've given me what I want and with great delight, I have no use for you." His tone was amused, borderline flirty if you will, despite each syllable dripping with venom and hatred for the lowly man. He sits back, note passed off to bloodied fingers to be delivered. His smile, decorated in such wicked fashion stayed in place as a tune came to mind. He took a moment to adjust in his seat and remove the suit coat that clung nicely to his form. It was placed over the arm rail, fingers holding the folder with a backwards name. (Last name) , (First name) (Middle Name).

 

The name was spelled so nicely, the native spelling of her surname a word of worship to some, and to others that of villainous acts. A single smirk, one to entertain the idea of grabbing what he wanted in the moment so tempting. He had time, time to meet with the infamous Sherlock Holmes any day of the week and in a way wrap the poor deduction wielding detective around his little pinky.

 

**_I would do anything_ **

**_Just to see inside_ **

 

Cold air was drawn in through a shaky breath to shattered lungs, the recent inhales of nicotine and tar from a shaft of white paper to calm the nerves having began to take its toll. One or two turned into a pack a day to a carton a week. Cigarettes had become a ‘good’ outlet in alternatives to alcohol, but yet she still knew her death grew closer with each intake...each drink. All would be her end and death would be a sweet release. This stalking...It made her grow closer and closer to shaking hands with death when she met her in hell. A single knock, another shaky breath, and the door was opened by a face the papers had yet to photograph.

 

“Sherlock, you’ve got another one!” The elder woman called up the stairs, a soft smile decorating her wrinkled features as she escorted the carefully bundled woman inside. To say she was nervous would be that of a understatement. This was the man everyone spoke of on a sunny day in a cafe with hushed whispers. The man behind the deerstalker and deductions...the smartest man in the world, smartest detective.

 

Sherlock bloody fucking Holmes.  

 

The baritone had the woman seated in what he and his flatmate deemed ‘the victims chair’, speaking quickly and having the woman do the same in turn. “Speak up, tell your story, don’t be boring.” She gulped down the lump in her throat, hands folded before her as she began her assumption, explaining the constant feeling of being watched, seeing men out of the corner of her eye, little things that normally go unnoticed yet to her was wide open. The detective stopped her when she began naming examples. Spray painted letters along a wall, notes left in the least obvious places, and most recently the text messages.   


“What were they signed with?” “I beg your pard-” “What. Initials.” “JM.” The detective watched her for a moment, blue orbs reflecting that of a ocean in a heavy rain compared to the (eye color) orbs the woman possessed before him. No signs of false words, no lies, she was telling the truth and he knew she was damned the moment this all started. “Congratulations Ms. (last  name), you’re being stalked by one of the most brilliant criminals in the world.” Her eyes widen at this, a wonder among the room as to how this single woman granted his attention. It was dismissed upon her verbal question spilling out among the silence of the heated air. “Will you help me Mr.Holmes?” “Yes.” He responded in simplicity, a gesture for her to stand. “Now get out and allow me to think.”

 

**_And no one else will do_ **

**_All that I want is to be you_ **

 

Oh how this little song and dance played out, watching the detective and woman over the past days try to figure out just why James Moriarty had grown an attraction to her in the first place. A amused grin played on the criminals lips at the way they ran around like mouses in a maze, trying to find the cheese and get the meal before being thrown back into their cages. A tap of his finger on a wooden desk sounded among the static air, the only other noise is the computer sitting before his with baritone and quiet voices spilling out in attempt to find the endgame...What was the endgame? James couldn’t answer that now, not when the voice of his sweet angel spoke about him. If only it was in admiration, and not horror.

 

The door swung open to his office, eyes peeling away for a brief moment to see who entered before returning to the flashing screen when it was simply one of his little spiders in his web. Flirting, he ignored it so in favor for the woman on the screen. “Mr. Mori-” “Don’t...try love. You repulse me.” He waved the woman off with a flick of his wrist, her offended look hysterical to the mans fancy, but he didn’t laugh. No, he simply found himself laughing at her little remarks on the screen for when the detective got out of hand or his methods seemed unorthodox. He clasped his fingers before him in a thoughtful manor, watching each flick of her delicate yet messy (hair color) locks, tangled and looked to be harassed by that of a vicious storm. Beautiful in how they curled from a day or two of not showering, the product missing from her making her look….’human’.

 

How he loved it.

 

How he yearned for it.

 

By the time she left the detectives flat, he had finished beneath the desk, a soft pant following with each breath yet that sickly grin staying in place.

 

**_What I would do to get under your skin_ **

**_Behind your secrets and all of your sins_ **

 

The little notes indicators began growing big as they went deeper into the ‘why’ of James Moriarty. Spray Paintings turned into windows decorated in crimson lettering and small notes to letters of undying admiration. The woman had began to stay the night with the detective as their work continued, his protection only a small indication as to the services he provided against James Moriarty. Each new item or picture added to the pile of evidence, and the detective was being thrown for a loop as to what the Napoleon of Crime wanted with her. He knew what was interesting of her, but why did that intrigue the man so? He had began to lash out at her small words, her attempts at help going unnoticed unless the man was feeling generous to praise her. His baritone voice was all that kept her on base and she was shaky with each spoken syllable when he sat her down to review the evidence.  


“He follows your every move, watches everything you do. Pictures of you in the paper for you to only see, windows decorated in blood-” “That was blood!?” “Yes.” He sighed and looked through every bit they had yet nothing added up. Why did he want her attention so bad? “You have gotten his attention and he gives no indication as to why he wants yours in return.” He looked her over, frowning a bit to himself. “You lack in sex appeal, your personality is dull, not truly bright and bubbly like many other women in your position. Some would be ecstatic.” Her eyes narrow at his before he held up his hands in surrender to her daggering gaze. “You don’t appear as his type...unless…” “Unless?” She raised a brow when he leaned forward, moving closer to her with voice that of a harsh whisper. “He wants you in his game. You’re a behavioral specialist, correct?” She nodded, her hair bobbing lightly with each shift. “Your his pawn and you don’t even know it. He’s using your fear as a way to…- Get up and look around for anything out of place.”   


“Why?” The woman questioned, standing after he jumped up and began looking for traces of misplaced objects or unusual dust, their search lasting moments before the detective stopped her, showing a small black device in the palm of his hand. “Is...is that a camera?” “He’s been watching us this whole time.” He smashed the device beneath his shoe, making the woman flinch as he grasped her shoulders with such a force as to direct her to a different area of the room. “You’re not safe.” “Sherlock-” “You need to be out of sight. Out of sight and out of mind will draw him out. We can catch him then when he slips up in a need to find you.” “Sherlock?” “What!?” He snapped at her, their eyes meeting, and for the quickest of moments she placed her lips in a soft lock to his own thin ones. It was returned after a moment's of hesitation, then they pulled away to simply look at each other. “You’re bloody brilliant.” She whispered among the air, another kiss from his part given before they broke away from each other and continued the search for the small devices around his flat.

 

**_Play all your games my way, I'll be the master_ **

**_Parade your frame for all the cameras_ **

 

That kiss, oh holy hell that fucking kiss. The way her lips moved and the subtle touch to the highly defined cheekbones the man she was kissing possessed. If only it was his lips as they laid naked in the afterglow. It was erotic yet infuriating to see her lips on the detective and not him, the criminal. If only she knew what he would do to taste her lips, to taste her….Oh it sent a sweet shiver up his spine, and he adored the feeling.

 

Pictures of the woman hung among the office, different shots from many angles, black and white hiding her beautiful colors. Family, friends, the detective, all photos of her involved and some with dark black ‘x’s’ decorating the photo paper. Old ex’s, people he thought would get in his way to have what he wanted. She was much like the crown jewels, and he wanted to take them for himself, even if the game didn’t require such. No, his plans for her had his mind in a spiral as he danced among the room like a waltz. If only his partner was here to sway.

 

**_Over and over and over and over again_ **

 

The calls had began with the mention of unusual deaths around London before the ties began to become linked to (First name) (Last name), rising suspicion around Scotland Yard until the detective settled their worries with a worse one. The fact such a man has taken such a interest in a woman like her had many worried, but of course the best was on the case. Slowly the detective understood what the man saw in her, what he wanted with her. Sherlock was to take the fall on his own, (first name) was to take the bullet with the trigger pulled by her own hand. The mental image of lips wrapped around the barrel of a metal object holding death was enough to have Sherlock with fright, but what added to this is the beginning of the end game.

 

[Have you caught on yet Sher? Do you see the end game? -JM]

[Why her? - SH]

[I know your type Holmes. You like the ones who are so...innocent, so boring yet with a thrill for danger. Have you not noticed how she's grown on you? -JM]

[You didn’t answer the question. -SH]

[Why answer something you already know? Think Sherlock, it’s right there in your face yet you fail to see it. - JM]

 

**_If you only knew_ **

**_I would do anything_ **

**_For a taste of you_ **

 

The detective observed the woman day in and day out as the clues turned into massive gestures, enough to leave the detectives blood boiling. What could he be missing of the woman that the criminal knew and refused to speak of? He knew she was a pawn, but what was her role in this game of theirs? He shook his head when she stirred against his side, fingers lightly playing with her delicate locks as her sweat slickened body was tangled with his own. Nude parts that had been in motion the time before now relaxed excluding his tense shoulders and busy mind. Human emotions seemed to have taken over and the detective didn’t know what to do with himself. Why did she start stirring up such things within his body and mind? That’s when it began to start clicking.

 

[You’re using her to burn me. -SH]

[Now you’re getting it, Sherlock. - JM]

[And if I break up with her, the only person she trust…-SH]

[She’ll off herself. Beautiful, isn’t it? To have hit near rock bottom and the last straw given by a potential suitor who is so willing to protect her from little ole me. - JM]

[You’re insane. - SH]

[I know. That’s why you keep playing this game. - SH]

 

**_I would do anything_ **

**_Just to see inside_ **

 

The days tick by and the detective does the one thing he knows to do for thinking. He leaves the world around him and enters his Mind Palace, allowing the outside world to slip away and unknowingly the woman who had been staying with him while he investigated her case. Each clue was becoming more frequent until the stress had began to slowly take over the woman. Three days, three fucking days and not a word from the man who sat in one place with his fingers pressed against his lips and searching for a way to keep the woman who made him feel human and not lose her.

 

By the fourth day and the woman begging the detective for some sort of reply, she was nearing her wits end. Each step into stress led to her body growing weak with lack of sleep and mind growing frail. He wouldn’t tell her what she needed, what she had to do to leave the sights of the man sitting up in his castle of blood and money, and so by the fifth day when he finally had determined a solution, the woman was packing up what little she had there and ready to leave for the door.

 

“(First name)- What are you doing?”

“What does it look like Sherlock? What can you deduce about this?” Her voice was shaky, but she watched as the man took his gaze over her clothes and bag. She was packed for a trip? No, she was leaving him, and what little emotion he felt for her surfaced as he approached her. “Why are you leaving?” “You haven’t talked to me in the last five days Sherlock, five fucking days and when these messages and such have gotten worse…” Tears brimmed her eyes when he took a step closer, worry written on his features. “You weren't there to tell me what I had to do, what to feel. You weren't there when I needed you most.

 

Moriarty’s plan, it was falling into place and Sherlock wasn’t able to stop the pieces from connecting to form the full picture.

 

“(First name), wait-”

 

“No, Sherlock. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. You want to drag me along and make me feel safe only to ignore me when i need you most, then you can just piss off.” His expression darkened when he tried to stop her, tried to explain what Moriarty planned yet she slipped past him.

 

[What is the end game, Moriarty? - SH]

[For you to be the final straw. - JM]

 

**_And no one else will do_ **

**_All that I want is to be you_ **

 

[You see my dear Sherlock, I led her into your arms. -JM]

 

The woman returned to her flat, taking her anger and paranoia out on the objects scattered here and there till shattering noises followed. Vases had been thrown at the wall, objects decorating the floor and books slung here and there. Chairs knocked over and bloody fingers that had grasped glass to try and clean up, shaking with each movement and tears drawing down her cheeks in heavy streams.

 

[I made her fall for you, the knight in shining armor. -JM]

 

(First name) rushed herself to the flats bathroom, taking care of her blood soaked fingers with a cold rinse before beginning work with bandages and gauze, attempting to stop the heavy flow of crimson that mingled in the running water. Each breath was labored, shaky and panic had set in. She was hyperventilating, crying, each shake of her body having her curl in on herself with knees pressed to her chest and face buried with each hasty intake of air. Dizzy, she felt dizzy.

 

[I made her scared of me, the villain, so she would want to stay with you, the knight. -JM]

[And I took her away when I made you question things. See, you were her prince, her last hope and you threw that away when she needed you most. You became the villain in this story. -JM]

[And now death will be her only release of my tirade. -JM]

 

**_I hear the sound of your name_ **

**_Circle a loop in my brain_ **

 

Sherlock was trying his damndest to make his way to her flat before the worst possible option could be fulfilled. His quick breath as he ran, the need for a cab little to none with how electrified his body felt. His heart hammered, his messages and calls going unnoticed by the woman he chased after.

 

[Don’t cry, Sherlock. We all knew this would be happening in the end. -JM]

[She’ll take the bullet. - JM]

[You take the fall. -JM]

[It’s wonderful how things pan out, isn’t it Sherlock? At least you’ll have the last image within your brain of her dead in her flat. -JM]

 

He tried to take every shortcut humanly possible within his vast knowledge, each camera following his movements and a snicker from the side of the viewer following. Sherlock Holmes was chasing one of the most precious people in his life he had failed to realize just how important they were. Jim Moriarty played on his human side. Jim fucking Moriarty had him wrapped around his finger just so he could burn him.

 

[Are you hurrying? She doesn't have long, Sherlock. -JM]

[Tick tock. -JM]

[Tick tock. -JM]

[Bang. -JM]

 

His insufferable teasing, oh how that look on Sherlock's face said it all. Jim Moriarty was getting a kick out of this and no one could tell him that it was wrong. His eyes focus on the camera of the woman walking around with no life to recall as hers. She was tear swollen, taking in soft breaths and with a smile planted on her lips. Jim Moriarty played her as well, the woman he took such a interest in.

 

The perfect pawn.

A beautiful pawn.

 

Oh how she would be missed in his fantasies.

 

**_I won't eat, won't sleep 'til I get my way_ **

 

The gun was retrieved from the dresser drawer within the flats single bedroom, silent feet padding across glass and debris with little to no feeling except the numbness that followed. Blood stained a carpet that sat among the middle of the sitting room, rear planting in a chair before the window. It was open, letting the wind blow the curtains aside and reveal stormy skies. It was a dark day in London, and a angel would be taken from the hellscape she had been forced into.

 

A pity really.

 

**_Just a taste of you_ **

 

The detective finally reached the building with a pant, body heaving itself into the door and past many of the humans he didn’t desire to reason with. They deserved no warning, no sentiment or recognition as his tired feet dragged him up the stairs leading to the upper floors of the flat complex. Two, three. He was on the third floor when he attempted to knock on the door, but before his knuckles could meet the hard wood, a note was left for him and him alone.

 

**_Just a taste of you_ **

 

You’re too late, my dear Sherlock. Say goodbye to the fire that burnt your heart out. - JM

 

**_(I would do anything)_ **

**_Just a taste of you_ **

 

Sherlock kicked down the door, eyes scanning the room as wood splinters scattered the wooden floor. His eyes saw her, but the click had his body rushing forward in attempt to grasp the metal barrel.

 

Bang.

 

Blood splattered the ceiling and the detective that had finally reached the woman in the chair, eyes wide at the hole that was met by his gaze. Silence, a silent scream for help when he clutched her fallen form, watching the blood pool around him on the wooden floor decorated in glass and debris. His heart hammered, he couldn’t breath, voice raw with each plea, people calling the Yard for aid and ambulance being placed in route for the flat that held the woman with a hole out of the back of her head and the shaky, crying detective as he tried to cover the grotesque site before him to hold as much blood in as humanly possible.

 

**_(I would do anything)_ **

**_Just a taste of you_ **

 

The death of (First name) (Last name) was observed by the king with the key, watching each tear soaked moment and bloody second that passed by before anyone could pull the broken man from the lifeless form before him. A harsh sob, a weakened scream blocked by static and the man relaxed back in his office chair to sip at his whiskey.

 

The pawn was dead.

The man was a wreck.

His game was done.

The endgame had been announced.


End file.
